Julie Pippert: Using My Words

Okay Santa. Christmas. How we do this whole ordeal, err, I meant deal. I am the Child of Divorced Parents, which means Christmas represents, historically, the War of the Roses, red versus white. I sort of forgot the entire Christ Child bit for many, many years. I dubbed the holidays Code Name York, and wondered when I'd be old enough for a valium prescription. So my entire life I struggled to rebel against the case of massive stress-induced heartburn that most people called the Hap-Happiest Season of All. I'll show you much mistletoe-ing. I'll raise my hand and confess that, in my youth, I liked to sock it to the materialistic capitalists by handing out donation cards in lieu of gifts. I still do this as a slightly less angsty adult, but it comes from a good place, I swear. I'll also confess to being a totally materialistic capitalist who used the holiday spirit to milk as much booty as I could from family, who never, EVER seemed to feel that guilt everyone promised me...

All right so my attempt to break-up the big, weighty posts with a bit of humor fell flat. Boy, nothing half so dreadful as delivering a punchline to dead silence. ;) So I'll get off the stand-up stage and leave the comedy to the comics. Back to the business at hand: having children. In Part 1 , I told you about our initial decison to have one child, and how that was thwarted by infertility until the Patron Saint of Follistim blessed us. In Part 2 , I told you about our decision to have a second child, and how that process was also overshadowed by our archnemesis Antigravida, and how the PTSD of infertility affected so much of our childbearing and child rearing. Now, time for the next bit: today and the future. My second pregnancy was more difficult, as were our life circumstances at the time. We moved, mid-way through my pregnany, to a new state halfway across the country. Our new house, which my husband bought on his own while I was stuck in MA, was a challenge. Even more challeng...

So somewhere in Blogville (and so VERY sorry, I can't recall where...was it you, Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah?) we were all yukking it up about how much we lurve us some Kratt Brothers. Forget Martin and Chris. Let me tell you...the man of the hour here is Mike Rowe. You know, Mike Rowe, of Dirty Jobs ? Who doesn't love a guy with a sense of humor and shit-covered hands? My daughter does, for sure. Dirty Jobs is the Big Favorite show around here. What, isn’t that your kid's favorite TV show? Oh it is for mine. She loves watching Mike Rowe do whale autopsies, shuck oysters, clean rancid flora and plant matter off disintegrating floats, make cheese, hoof cattle, generate fertilizer, clean septic tanks, run through sewers, and more. Mmmmmm. Yummmmm. And the rewind button...the letters are wearing off. We can't watch enough times that roach drop onto Mike's ass from the sewer ceiling! Oh no we can't! And the worm dung farmer and guano collector...I'm happy to say tha...

After our first daughter was born, my husband and I floated as if in a cotton candy vision of Heaven dream. I know, get out the insulin, how saccharin was that? Aspartame level, surely. Wink and laugh and nudge. Seriously, though, I don't know how else to describe it. We were dazed in a haze of happiness. I look back at photos of us the first few months. We look tired, a bit bewildered, but our faces are wide open with wonder and smiles. I look at pictures of me, cradling my newborn, and there is such a glow. There is one picture in particular. It was just before Easter, right after Patience was born. She was just a few months old. She had grown round with chubby cheeks, and her eyes had focused and looked intently at everything around her. Old soul eyes. She smiled, too, but only at you, not simply for you. We dressed casual nice and went to the mall for Bunny photos. I wanted seasonal character photos of my daughter, every season, every year. I wanted to click snap trap every mom...

I'm hopping on the theme bandwagon...this ongoing discussion in the blogosphere about onlies and siblings. Last night, as I complained about the stinking Unwelcome Aunt currently visiting me (and yes, I used a euphemism for "menstrual cycle." I often do. My favorite is "surfing the crimson wave." Seriously, you have to have a sense of humor if your Aunt is anything like my Aunt or you'll go crazy. I'll elaborate below.), anyway, last night, as I complained about the Aunt, my husband said, "Well you could always get pregnant again." And I replied with... (crickets chirping) Seriously. I said absolutely nothing. He waited, half joking smile on his face, eyebrows elevated...leaning across the bed towards me. And I said absolutely nothing. I think even my face---usually even more talkative than my mouth---was silent. He said, leaning back, "Uhhh, errrr, oookaaaayy, that fell flat. Nothing to say?" And I shrugged, still pulling an ironic ...

Some days I am the carpenter, but today? I am the oyster. (If you need a reference, it's Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and The Carpenter .) I have been led a not-so-merry dance down the tulip path, my friends. There are some American businesses that have pissed me off recently. I am doubly pissed off because I strongly suspect they are following what I consider standard US business operating procedure, which, in my opinion is chockfull of morally bankrupt and malicious deliberately misleading tactics. Where do US business CEOs learn this stuff? Is there a class at universities called, "US Business 101: Tactics in Caginess---Hedge, Stall, Redirect Blame, Prevaricate, and Lie?" My hide is royally chapped purple. So welcome to The Ravin’ Picture Maven’s Olympic Games for Worst Customer Service Thus Far This Year Award Ceremony. 1. GOLD AWARD to…AT&T What they did: Had a major breakdown of service for my entire town for a full seven days---for me this affected my phone...